


connections

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [105]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 12:57:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine conversation between Bree and her parents, when she told them about her meeting with Laoghaire. Inspired by 04x07.





	connections

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/181247680729/imagine-conversation-between-bree-and-her-parents) on tumblr

“Did she look well, at least?”

 

Brianna shifted in the high-backed wooden bench – crafted, Mama had explained, by a Swedish family half a day’s ride to the west.

 

“The house was nice. Clean and orderly. We ate a lot of pigeon.”

 

Murtagh huffed on the bench next to her. Across from them, sitting beside her husband on the bed, Claire sighed.

 

“I’m happy that Joan is doing well. She is such a sweet girl.”

 

Brianna nodded. “It was fun, to be with her those weeks. Almost like having a sister.”

 

Silence – heavy, awkward, stiff – bloomed in the space between the four Frasers.

 

Brianna watched, fascinated, as her mother’s hand slowly intertwined with her father’s – and he covered their joined hands with his free hand, resting on his knee.

 

The fire crackled.

 

“What?”

 

Murtagh and Jamie looked to Claire, who smiled sadly.

 

“Bree, darling – I never told you this, but you *did* have a sister.”

 

Bree’s brows furrowed. “But – but – how?”

 

“It was when we were in France.” Murtagh’s gruff voice was surprisingly gentle, eyes dark in the firelight. “Yer Mam told ye about that time, no?”

 

“She did. It was right after…um…after Wentworth Prison.”

 

Jamie inhaled sharply. Murtagh held her gaze.

 

“Aye. Yer Mam was carrying a wee bairn then. But the bairn was born too early, ken? She was baptized and buried at the hospital where yer Mam worked.”

 

“Her name was Faith.” Claire’s voice seemed very small.

 

Brianna nodded slowly, eyes huge.

 

“It was why we were willing to do *anything* to keep ye safe, *mo chiusle*.” Jamie’s voice was hoarse as his eyes remained locked on Claire’s. “Even tear ourselves apart from each other. I – I knew that after Culloden, even if I survived I wouldna be able to give ye the life ye deserved. And so I made yer Mam promise to go back. To give ye the love and home that I couldna. To…” He cleared his throat. “To have another man love ye and raise ye as his own.”

 

Her eyes darted to her mother – knuckles white as her hand gripped Jamie’s. Watched them exchange a thousand silent memories.

 

Suddenly she couldn’t bear being even three feet from him – so she rose and slipped into the space between her parents. Gratefully they shifted on the feather mattress to accommodate her – and she took Jamie Fraser’s huge, work-roughened hands in her own.

 

“You made the right decision.” Christ, his eyes were just like hers. How could Mama have looked at her every day and not remembered him? “I had a wonderful childhood. A father who loved me. Everything a girl could ask for.”

 

He pursed his lips – jaw clenched so tight. Nodding wordlessly. Carefully he raised a tentative hand to her cheek – and she smiled, reaching her free hand to clasp with her mother’s.

 

“Never doubt how much I love you, Brianna. I ken it may sound odd as we’ve only truly kent each other a few days – ”

 

“Don’t apologize. I understand.”

 

Then he smiled, just a bit. “Clever lass.”

 

Brianna drew back a bit, so that she could look at both parents. Still she held their hands.

 

“I need to tell you something. It’s something that will happen in a few years – but I don’t know exactly when.”

 

“What is it?” Claire squeezed her daughter’s hand.

 

Brianna swallowed, steeling herself. “I saw your obituary in a newspaper. You will die here on the Ridge, in a fire, sometime in the next ten years.”

 

Murtagh coughed. “Ye dinna ken the exact date?”

 

“No – the microfilm was smudged.”

 

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Micro – what?”

 

She shook her head. “Never mind. But I had to come and tell you, do you understand?”

 

“Aye.” Jamie squeezed his daughter’s hand. “Aye, and I thank ye for it. Though I dinna ken how exactly we can avoid such a thing, when we dinna ken when it will happen.”

 

“Surely you’re not thinking that we leave the Ridge, Jamie?”

 

“No, Sassenach – never that. Only, we can do everything in our power to fireproof the cabin, aye?”

 

“Yes. I suppose we have time, anyway.”

 

“You do. It happens in the 1770s – and it’s not even 1770 yet.”

 

Murtagh huffed. “I trust ye about this, Brianna. Like I trusted yer Mam about the Rising, and I trust what she has told me about this Revolution.”

 

“I can tell you all about it,” Bree smiled. “I did grow up in Boston, after all. Ground zero in 1776.”

 

“Ground zero?”

 

Brianna shook her head. “Never mind. But I can share a lot more than Mama would have been able to.”

 

“She can,” Claire affirmed. “A mind like a steel trap. Like her father’s.”

 

Jamie blushed, pleased.

 

A happy beat. Then –

 

“Just how exactly did ye find this obituary, Bree?”

 

She hesitated just long enough for Claire to try to soothe her.

 

“Was it Roger? I know things went sour between you – ”

 

“I found it in Daddy’s papers.”

 

Jamie dropped his daughter’s hand. The shock – the anger – couldn’t have been clearer on Claire’s glass face.

 

“He knew?”

 

“He did. And I think I remember the night he found out. I was a senior in high school – I don’t know if you remember how he slept in his office one night, and I went there early to make him tea and scones?”

 

Claire reached across her daughter’s lap for her husband’s hand; he took it within a heartbeat.

 

“He was really upset. I could tell he was trying to tell me something – but he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”

 

“That was just a few months before he died,” Claire whispered.

 

Jamie squeezed her hand. “Tell me what ye’re feeling, Sassenach.”

 

Murtagh rose to add logs onto the fire – still within earshot, but giving them as much space as he could.

 

“He *knew* you had survived Culloden. And he didn’t tell me!”

 

“Probably because he knew what you’d do, Mama – exactly what you did once we found Da.”

 

“But he also kent that she died – and he didna tell her either!”

 

For a split second Brianna felt a reflexive, almost absurd urge to defend Frank Randall, two hundred years before he had been born.

 

“Mama – I’ve been thinking about it my whole way here. And it…it shows me an ugly side of him. I saw it a bit that night. And now…Da, I don’t want you to think he wasn’t a good father to me, because of this.”

 

“Oh, I ken that, *a nighean*. Yer mam has been clear on that account. Only – if ye dinna mind me saying so, from what I understand, he wasna the best husband to her.”

 

“We tried, Bree, after I came back. Only – ”

 

“No, I understand. It’s so clear to me, now that I see you together.”

 

“Aye – lovesick fools the both of them. Stars in their eyes.” Murtagh settled back onto the bench, wrapping a blanket around his bony shoulders. “Even in the days when Laoghaire was mooning over him at Leoch – yer da only had eyes for yer mam.”

 

“She didna ken it yet, though. No matter how hard I tried.” On Bree’s lap, she watched Jamie’s thumb trace the bumps of Claire’s knuckles. Grateful for the turn in conversation.

 

“Even at their wedding – yer da only had eyes for her.” Murtagh’s voice softened – eyes far away. “Yer mam, on the other hand – weel. She needed a bit o’ help getting up that morning.”

 

Brianna smiled. “What was it like – their wedding?”

 

Jamie and Claire turned to look at Murtagh – their daughter between them, her features a perfect mix of the two people he loved more than anything in the world.

 

He remembered how Claire had stood almost sullenly in the sunlight as the tavern maid uncovered her beautiful dress. How Jamie had bowed to her. How Dougal had scored their wrists, then bound them together. How Jamie had swaggered down the tavern stairs, clad only in his shirt and boots – but only after seeing a terrified Claire safe back into their room.

 

“It was the greatest honor of my life to attend, *a nighean*,” he said softly. “Though meeting ye today is a verra close second.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
